carrion birds
by finaljoy
Summary: Katrina stands at Death's side, to learn his secrets and destroy him from the inside out. Any accusations of her being Death's pet are false. Any questions about her loyalties are to be ignored. She is a fire bird, not a carrion bird, there to burn down the armies of Moloch. She just has to remember that it is all a lie.
1. lethal and kind

_AN do you here this sound it is the sound of me being trash and giving into my current guilty pleasure and i give absolutely no bothers NOBODY FIGHT ME ON THIS ABRAHAM/KATRINA IS MY UNHEALTHY PASSION AND I WILL EXPOUND ON IT IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE._

_shout out to twisted psychology and heavy handed overarching metaphors they are my life_

Warnings: general abusive relationship throughout a la psychological manipulation, borderline physical abuse, a gross invitation to indulgence that mocks the power of the invisible hand to foster true quality fics forgive me I am a wreck and it's been over a month._  
><em>

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><p><em>He will scorch the earth.<em>

When Katrina had said that to Ichabod, she had not thought it might be used quiet so literally. She also thought she had a chance at being able to contain it. How dreadfully wrong she turned out to be.

Katrina breathed through her mouth, trying not to be sick at the smell of burning flesh and hair and _human._ The Horseman stood before the burning corpses, big and angry and with death wrapped around his limbs.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about her own experiences with fire. Katrina swallowed, and made herself take a breath to calm down.

She nearly vomited.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, voice low and terrible. Katrina pulled her hand away from her mouth, shocked to hear Abraham's voice. It had not been Abraham who had wielded that axe and thrown screaming men into a pyre, it had been Death and Death alone. She touched the necklace still at her throat, and pursed her lips.

She shook her head in response, then realized that he still had his back to her. She swallowed, and then said, "I'm alright."

Men had heard talk of the witch held by Death. They had then thought to deal with her, as all witches ought to be. Katrina had been bound and facing the pyre when Abraham had come for her. She had never been so thankful to see him. Perhaps later, when the hysteria kicked in, and the abject disgust in her stomach wore off, she might even find it funny, being saved from death by Death. Then again, he had already proven that she was his to claim.

"Good," he said, turning back to her. Katrina's eyes were caught by the axe still in his hand. Only one of her kidnappers had been slain with it. All of the others had been struck, and then cast into the flames. The screams had not lasted long.

He walked toward her, and took her arm. Katrina resigned herself to be dragged back to his mount, but he seemed to be simply examining her, holding tight to make sure that she was truly fine. Katrina stared into his face, and then he nodded.

She walked back to his horse, wondering if it was concern or possessiveness that made him hold her so tight.

Katrina expected Abraham to rant about what had happened. She expected a tirade, an explosion, him to loose all of his rage and wreak havoc. But instead he was silent, his anger snarling up in his teeth and making her skin crawl.

She didn't _want_ him to lose control, but she also didn't want to be stuck with the image of him lethal and wicked, skin tearing the air apart as he moved forward and cut people down with a glowing axe. She didn't want to think about how the smell of burning people was on his clothes and the scent of death was probably going to stain their skin for the rest of their days.

His hands were rough as he helped her down from his horse once they had returned to the coach house, and then he was gone, riding off toward the stables. Katrina glanced at the woods. She could run. She could run until the bright, garish impression of flames and ropes over her mouth and terrified men were torn off, ripped away by the dark and the cold and the wind.

Katrina walked inside, feeling numb. She stumbled area rugs and bumped into furniture, but she didn't pay attention to the dull ache of future bruises. It was almost too dark for her to see, but she managed her way into one of the interior rooms. Katrina sat down heavily, skirts pooling out around her.

The smell of burning hair and skin hit her in the face, making her wretch. Katrina stared down at herself, then tore her dress off, kicking it away so that she was only in her shift. She braced her hands against the side of her head, fingers twisted up in her hair.

Some men had kidnapped her because they thought she was serving the Horseman Death. They had looked at her and thought _witch_ and decided to burn her.

Again.

Katrina froze when she realized that the smell was in her _hair._ She pulled some strands before her face, horror and disgust mixing inside of her until she was on her feet, staggering blindly toward the door. She scrambled back through the house, not even pausing when she saw Abraham entering through the doorway. She shoved past him, thoughts only on getting the smell _off of her._

He grabbed for her, clearly thinking she was trying to escape again. Katrina yanked her hand out of his grip, lurching along the side of the house, desperate to reach the small spigot at the end. Abraham caught hold of her again, trying to bodily pull her back.

"_Let go of me!_" Katrina practically shrieked, possessed with the idea of getting clean, knowing that she would never be able to rest if she kept that wretched reminder on her skin. "Let me go, _let me go, _I need the water, I need to get clean!"

She clawed her way out of his arms again, almost falling to the ground when was free. She frantically pumped the spigot, barely able to keep hold of it, but then there was water, there was water flowing and she dropped to her knees, not caring about the mud that was caking itself into her shift. She bent her head underneath the spigot, scrubbing her hands through her hair, trying to get it clean.

She didn't know when she had started crying, but sobs were making her whole body shake, and she felt like she was choking, but she kept working her hands, even though the water had stopped. Katrina hunched over, mouth pressed into her knees, hands clenched around her hair and the fabric of her shift.

Abraham's boots stopped beside her, but she paid them no mind as she fell apart. After a moment, he leaned over and put a hand on her back. Abraham didn't say a word, but he helped her to her feet, and guided her back inside.

His clothes smelled of smoke and pain, but she still held on and sobbed into his chest, because there really wasn't any one else for her to hold.

* * *

><p>"I have something for you," Abraham said one day, making her turn around. She had been examining one of the cases in the loft, trying to figure out just what the purpose of some of the modern adornments were for.<p>

She waited, wary of whatever he might give her. It might be some cruel trick, but it also might be some misplaced attempt at affection. Either way, she wanted absolutely no part of it.

He smiled at her misgiving expression, and pulled something out of his pocket. Katrina stared at his hand for a long moment, then dragged in a breath.

"A witch's glass," he confirmed, holding it out to her. Katrina found her hands moving toward it without thought, because she hadn't done magic in _so long,_ but then she pulled herself back, unsure what strings came attached.

This seemed to be one of the good days, though, where Abraham was content to try to charm her out of her sulk, rather than box her into submission. He held the small glass ball out to her, tempting her closer. Katrina considered, then moved to take the glass from him. Abraham pulled his hand back, saying, "Not quite yet."

She pursed her lips, _knowing_ there had been a catch, and yet irked that she had not waited for it. Katrina followed him down to the main level, trying to guess what he wanted from her. They stopped before the table, and Katrina cast a black look to the chair. She was tired of being tied up.

"You can sit," he told her, voice almost teasing. She looked at him, because she had known this Abraham, the proud, kind man that had strangely possessed some sort of affection toward her, even though their future had been determined by society and convenience only.

She sat down gingerly, eyes on the glass. Abraham held it out again, but before she could reach for it, he produced a knife. Katrina hissed in a breath, eyes flying to his face, but he still had that mild, _you'll see_ sort of smile on. As she watched, he turned the tip to his own hand, and pricked one of the fingers holding the glass. He set down the knife and then switched hands, so that the injured one was above the glass. A drop of thick, black blood fell onto the glass, and its surface turned cloudy for a moment, before the blood was absorbed.

"Here," he whispered, finally proffering it to her. Katrina took it tentatively, already feeling the magic hum beneath her palms. She had been wondering how the magic would work. The wards binding her powers would hardly allow for the use of a witch's glass. Apparently, the wards had been cast so that his blood alone could activate magic. Katrina suspected Jeremy's magic was to blame, but she honestly couldn't see her son doing _anyone _such a flippant favor. Much as it broke her heart, Jeremy was a man of trades and deals.

"Scry anything you want."

"Even if it is Ichabod?" she asked, a slight smile of her own on her lips, because she wanted to know just how honest he was being with her. Abraham's expression turned a little darker at that, his eyes narrowing and his smile turning thin, but he nodded and said, "Whatever you want."

Katrina held his gaze for a long moment, aching to perform magic, even if it was so slight as to gaze around at the outside world, but then she looked back at the glass. She considered a moment, and quickly discarded the idea of scrying her husband just to spite Abraham. She was not there to antagonize him, she was there to learn his secrets and make him trust her.

And…she was not sure if she would be able to handle looking at Ichabod, free and healthy and so full of life, when she…well, she just was not sure.

Katrina concentrated, closing her eyes until she felt the magic pull itself out of her blood and swirl around inside of the witch's glass. She looked at it, and then felt a large, gratified smile spread across her features.

Trees. Big, beautiful, tall pines that were broad and so green that she could cry. And underneath them was a warm, dense underbrush, probably filled with animals and flowers and all sorts of beautiful living things, not any of the dead, frozen stuff she was used to seeing here.

Abraham leaned across the table to see the image she had conjured in the glass, expression of bland surprise.

"A forest?" he asked, clearly having expected Ichabod to appear.

"I went there as a little girl," she told him, remembering a warm summer afternoon spent with her family. The memory felt small and strange in the darkness of the coach house. Abraham leaned back, considering her.

"The memory gives you joy."

"It was a good time. I should like to see something like it again."

Abraham met her gaze then, feeling the silent accusation. They both knew that the coming of Moloch would destroy all that was lovely left in the world.

He took back the witch's glass, and Katrina felt emptier, the small stream of magic humming through her breaking off and leaving her all alone.

"You just have to ask if you want to use it again," he said. Katrina scowled at him, because she despised the way he said it, casual, like he had the right to contain her nature. But then she made her expression smooth, because she had learned something important. As long as she had Abraham's blood, she could work magic. It was just getting it that would pose a problem.

"Whenever I want?" she asked Abraham, letting her eyes wander back to the glass. Let him think her so incredibly desperate for magic. Granted, she _was,_ but Katrina had learned long ago how to refine that desperation into something wicked and sharp and patient.

"Whenever you want," he promised, and Katrina let herself break into a smile.

* * *

><p>Much as Katrina hated to request <em>anything <em>of Abraham, she found herself asking him for a bed. He had offered her one at first, but Katrina had made the pointed and rather austere decision to sleep on a pallet on the floor. But, she was finally admitting to herself, it was incredibly uncomfortable, and she no longer wanted to give the blatant air of defiance.

(and, she admitted to herself and herself only, she was not quite as afraid of what might happen to her on a bed, as Abraham would hardly wait for such a petty qualifier to take what he wanted.)

Abraham considered her for a long moment after the request, then gave a slow nod.

"As you wish. But there is something you must do in return."

Katrina felt her stomach go cold at the words, but her expression stayed the same, an almost haughty resignation as she asked, "What is it?"

"Magic. You need to cast a spell."  
>"To do what?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice. "I agreed to stay with you, Abraham, not help bring about end of days."<p>

His smile was like a knife blade, thin and sharp.

"Of course. You won't be opening the gate for Moloch, Katrina. There is just a spell that the Horseman War cannot do by himself."

"Like what? Jeremy is a powerful warlock, I'm not sure there is much I can do." Abraham considered her, noticing the way her expression turned from hostile to genuinely curious.

"You will be breaking a seal. The strength of a blood tie is needed to cast the spell," he said, tone a little milder. Katrina considered, knowing that whether she was flinging open the doors for Moloch himself, or just making things easier for his servants, she was still advancing his wicked cause.

Katrina felt a little piece of herself be compromised when she nodded in agreement.

Abraham had looked pleased as he showed her the room, a small thing with a large, beautiful window that stared out at the forest. She had thanked him a little less stiffly than she would have liked, and sat down on the bed. It was almost sinful, how nice it felt underneath her.

Katrina glared out at the moonlight. She made herself not think about what else she would have to give up to ultimately triumph.

Though she hated the fact, her very bones hummed in anticipation of the magic. The scrying had only pricked her attention, pointing out just how much she _needed_ to do more, like eating a morsel of bread after a long fast. But the thought of big magic, powerful magic, magic that needed her power and her son's power and would draw on the energy in their blood and make things _happen,_ it was almost horrid in how much she craved it. Katrina knew that whatever the spell was, it would be terrible, and it would only hurt Ichabod and Abigail Mills' cause, but she had a part to play. That was perhaps why she hated herself so much over it. That and the fact that her magic was being held hostage, and her good intent locked away for other purposes.

She almost hated how well she slept that night. The words _getting comfortable_ chased themselves around her head when she woke up, condemning her more than anyone else had.

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><p><em>AN ahahaha i am committing myself to something terrible and i don't know how to stop<em>


	2. stained in the dark

_AN I am so intrigued by this 'greater purpose' Katrina is meant for. There is just so much to explore with Katrina (ahaha look I'm beating my dead horse), and looking at it in an evil, or bad out of necessity sort of view opens soooooo many more doors._

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><p>Katrina laid on her new bed, staring at the ceiling because it was either that or start pacing from anticipation, and she would <em>not<em> hand over the satisfaction that she could be so easily affected. She watched the morning's heavy curtain of clouds break up, chasing Abraham deeper into the house. The light stretched and then shrank back, shifting from her shoes, to her torso, then back to her shoes again. She sat up when it was too dark to clearly make out the individual panels of wood above her. Abraham, the Horseman, would be able to move about soon (she had purposefully left her large window thrown open, because she did _not _want to have to deal with him. And maybe, for perhaps a second, she could pretend that she was not being held prisoner, but merely whiling away a particularly tedious fall afternoon, with her loved ones just in the next room).

When Katrina had to go fetch a set of candles to see anything at all, Abraham appeared. She cast him an unimpressed glance when she really wanted to flinch, and set about collecting several candles for her new room. He watched her for a moment, then said, "Katrina. It's time."

She looked at him, then back at the candles. She had guessed it would be soon, but not in merely a _day._ She set them down, trying not to let her sudden apprehension show. Or the increasing excitement.

If nothing else was to be said about that night, Katrina was just thankful to be out of the coach house. Even if it meant climbing onto Abraham's horse—which she was certain _hissed_ at her, every time she came near—and letting Abraham wrap his arms around her so that he might steer, Katrina loved the fresh air tossing across her skin, the rush of seeing _new things_, and to be able to stand directly under the moon. She was outside, not being ferried from couch house to stable so that she might wash herself or the like. She was outside, and she was going to do _magic._

Katrina just had to remember that both of those treats relied on the whims of the servants of the Devil. Which, upon surveying the scene laid out for her, was not going to be too hard.

The whole place _ached _of dark magic, from the small pits of flames around the small clearing, to the bones carefully arranged in an arc around Jeremy's feet. Katrina's first thought was how much her bones screamed at the thought of _more fire,_ but she kept her back straight and head high. Then she stared at the bones for a moment, first wondering how Jeremy had gotten them, and then wondering what they were from.

"Hello, Mother," he said, voice as soft and mocking as ever. He was wearing his usual small smile, as if delighting in some wicked joke she would never know. Abraham may have had no head and an axe that glowed red hot, but it was Katrina's own son that truly frightened her. She could never tell what he wanted or would do next, all of his plans hidden behind a wicked smile and a whole arsenal of unsavory tricks.

"Jeremy," she greet, cool, reserved, a lady barely condescending to speak to this man, despite their blood ties. He was helping coerce her into black magic, and she did _not _revel in the prospect of using her powers, she was disgusted and angry and proud. Jeremy's smile widened just a touch, and Katrina remembered too late that he could sense lies, and almost all of her thoughts had just been false. How damnably annoying.

_I'm proud to see what you've become,_ she flung at him, and Jeremy's self-satisfied smirk dropped. Katrina didn't care why (she had no illusion about him and his regard for her opinions), but she did give her own darkly triumphant smirk.

"Come, we must perform the spell quickly," he said, suddenly terse. Katrina didn't move.

"What is it?"

"Thinking of countermanding the spell?"

"I want to know exactly what it is I am doing. Abraham mentioned breaking a seal, but—"

"Do not cause a stir now," Abraham warned behind her, but she set her jaw and glared at her son.

"I _need_ to know what kind of spell I am to be doing. I do not have the intense gift you have, my son, I need to know what I am expected to do."

"Blood magic," he told her. "Nothing special, most of the ritual is already laid out. You just need to read from the book."

"…Very well," she said, examining the bones on the grass. She very much hoped whatever she was releasing wasn't about to destroy the Witnesses.

Jeremy handed her a large book, open to a spread written in Greek. She couldn't tell what the dialogue said, but she could read the spell. A cursory glance told her it was not a monster they were freeing, but she didn't feel very reassured.

"Hand out," Jeremy told her, roughly taking her wrist. Katrina barely had a moment to register the black leather gloves he was wearing before he was pricking her palm with a knife tip. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held on until he had pressed a small bundle of plants into her hand. She smelled rosemary and identified the gritty, wide leaves of rhododendron, but before she could look closer, Jeremy pulled off his glove and pricked his own palm. Katrina stared at him as he clasped another small bundle of plants, seeming to take a tiny moment of preparation before he reached out and grabbed her hand. It was aggressive, impersonal, and brisk, probably due to the fact that all of her sins were rushing to make themselves known to him and he wanted as little of it as possible, but all she could think was that this was the first time she had held her son's hand.

If Katrina held on a little tighter, Jeremy did not respond and she would never say.

Katrina held the book in her free hand, listening to sound of Jeremy begin the incantation.

_"By the darkest pits thou wast able,_

_O black brand, carved upon this earth's bone…"_

The words slithered over her ears, rising against her skin and making it crawl. She glanced at Abraham, who was standing a ways back, stoic and terrible. Katrina swallowed and looked back at the book, the words dragging themselves out before she had even read the first line.

_"As we stand, blood born and new,_

_Break to us, as thy proper place demands._

_Yield, seal of the wicked…"_

The magic was palpable now, drowning out everything not a part of it. The fire snarled and snapped, the bones at her feet groaned and gave up their secrets, the blood dripping from Jeremy's hand slid down her fingers and begged for more, for all of the power she had left.

Katrina closed her eyes, feeling the magic draw out her power, using it up and giving nothing back. They were both chanting now, voices distorted and stretched by the magic. She understood why Jeremy hadn't attempted this alone. Even with his own power supplementing things, she thought her legs might give way.

_"For we so claim the right to reign,_

_And unto us, be done!"_

The torched hissed out for a moment, the howled back to life. Jeremy dropped Katrina's hand and she staggered back at the magical recoil, panting slightly. Far away, she could feel their spell taking affect. She chewed on her cheek, and wished Ichabod and his allies well.

"And that's it? It is now free?" Abraham asked, starting forward. Katrina glanced back, having forgotten him in the haze of magic.

"Yes, it's now free for you to claim," Jeremy said, that hard, derisive edge returning to his voice. Katrina wished she could smooth it away.

Abraham nodded, and Katrina edged away from her son, sensing that she no longer had the right to be there. She was supposed to return to Abraham, so that he might once again hide her away.

His horse shrieked out a whiny, and instantly Abraham had the rifle in his hands. He swung around to face Abbie Mills, who had seemingly materialized from the surrounding trees. She was holding a gun of her own, and quickly fired off two shots into Abraham's chest, and though his body jerked, he still took aim and returned fire.

Katrina clapped her hands over her ears and ducked away, trampling over the remains of the spell, which was now just some torches and grave desecration. She ran to the trees, and threw herself down into a shallow ditch to avoid any errant bullets.

More gunshots were in the air, but this time from the other side of the clearing. She turned to see another woman wielding a gun as she reached the tree line, favoring Miss Mills in the eyes and the harsh, defiant set of her shoulders. She was firing rapidly at Jeremy, probably to keep him from casting a spell. Katrina's heart leaped into her throat as he dived to the side, a tear of blood on his sweater sleeve.

Abraham was advancing on Abbie, expression feral. She was steadily retreating, her own expression turning tight.

"Hey, Jenny, a little help here," she called, and the other woman turned her gun toward Abraham. He didn't turn around when she shot him in the back.

"Katrina!" Ichabod hissed, diving down to find cover beside her. He had that same desperate expression as before, and he looked like he hadn't slept in quite some time.

"Katrina, what has happened? Why're you here?"

"I-Ichabod, I helped them perform a spell, and—"

"Can you undo it, counteract it in anyway? Katrina it is imperative!"

"I—no, I barely knew what the first spell was for!" she said. They both jumped when a throwing axe thudded into a tree near them, both terrified that Abraham had caught sight of them, but a quick look told Katrina that he was still occupied with the Mills sisters.

"Consecrated bullets, Jenny. Consecrated bullets! _Switch bullets_!" Abbie yelled, true panic in her eyes as she scrambled backward on the ground. She rolled out of the way just as Abraham brought is axe down, tearing a burning chunk from the ground.

Jenny switched something in her gun, then fired again. This time, Abraham gasped, the arm that had taken the bullet dropping to his side.

Katrina turned back to Ichabod when she felt him grab her shoulder, realizing that he had been speaking to her the whole time.

"Ichabod, you need to leave here," she hissed, slicing over him. "The spell was to break a seal—"

"On the legion's blood, I know. That is why we're here, it's the only thing that can stop the Kindred—"

"The what?"

"A monster that matches the Horsemen, blow for blow. Without it—"

"Then you must get there first!" she gasped. "It was released perhaps two miles away, over there," she said, pointing in the direction she had felt the magic take hold. Ichabod glanced over his shoulder, then returned to staring at her.

"They were speaking of retrieving something, after they had it, is it also a guardian?"

"No, the only thing—oh _no_," he breathed, face going pale. "The head. It has the Horseman's head!"

"Then you _must_ find the legion's blood before they do!" Katrina said, squeezing his hands. She didn't remember him reaching out to hold her, but his hands were around hers and they felt sturdy and decent. "Ichabod, the end of days will come when he regains his head! Stop him, anyway you can."

"Alright, Katrina, I swear to you, we will, and then you can—"

"Ichabod, you must leave," she said, pushing herself up off the ground. She turned to face the battle, just in time to see Jenny, hurrying to fix her gun, while Abraham hoisted his axe back above his head.

"Ichabod!" Katrina gasped, and instantly he saw it, shouting, _"Jenny!" _The woman dived away at his warning, her gun clicking into place as Abraham torn a burning swathe out of the air. She landed with a roll, turning to land two shots of consecrated bullets into Abraham's chest. His growl of pain made Katrina shudder, because it was _feral__,_ the sound of wrath mixing up inside of him and promising something horrible and unpredictable.

"Ichabod, this is madness!" Katrina said, whirling back to face him. "Go find the legion's blood, quickly, before any of you die!"

"But—"

"_Leave!_" she yelled, condemning herself as she walked toward Death. She heard him call to the Mills', and within moments and a last burst of gunfire, they were gone.

Abraham's eyes were wild when he looked at her, ferocious and almost inhuman. She knew he had seen Ichabod leave that same cluster of trees as she had, and steeled herself for the connection made in Abraham's eyes. She felt his anger tear over her skin, but she kept her head down, meekly returning to his side. Abraham snarled as he tore out one of the bullets lodged in his arm and threw it aside. His arm remained limp, though. If she ever got a chance, she would be sure to inform the Witnesses of just how effective consecrated weapons were. Still, some strange part of her wanted to ask if he was alright, but Katrina wasn't sure if it was an honest question or a mockery, and Abraham was clearly in no state to be jested with. So instead, she stole a glance at him and asked, "Where is Jeremy?"

"Collecting the legion's blood. After you friends appeared, he thought it wise to complete our goal."

Katrina nodded, and looked back toward the remnants of the spell. Her skin crawled at the memory of how _good_ the magic had felt, even though it had been black, black, _black._

They didn't say anything as he helped her onto his horse, and they returned to the coach house. The ride back didn't feel half so luxurious as the initial one, more a brittle precursor to something terrible. Abraham's mood had soured, probably because of the sudden potency of the Mills' weapons against him. When he helped her off his horse, Katrina noticed that the arm that had been shot still remained fairly useless, only a portion of its mobility recovered. Katrina went inside while he stabled his horse, and allowed herself a few breaths, because she knew she only had a few more seconds of precious peace. Sure enough, when Abraham came inside, that calm neatly broke.

"What did you tell him?" Abraham asked, voice flinty. She looked back at him, too tired to bother with the proud, defiant act.

"I told Ichabod to leave. Whatever he was hoping to accomplish, it was foolhardy and ill-advised."

"You don't think your precious Witness will be able to hold up against the forces of Moloch?" There was a sharp edge in his voice, something of mirthless mockery. Katrina cast him a flat look.

"No, I have faith he and Miss Mills both will triumph. But attempting to settle some sort of _dispute of honor _with the Horseman of Death…it is madness. I want him to live, after all."

Abraham gave her a long look, which she hated. It was like he cut through her, and saw all of the little things she didn't want to think about.

"You have decided to stay twice, and yet you actively side against my work, and counsel my enemies. What are you planning?"

"It is possible to care for people in more than one way," she responded, not minding the jagged edge to her words. "And wishing for the survival of the world is born from a basic love _of_ the world. The apocalypse would not suit me, I think. And don't go laying insinuations into my words, just to keep yourself _entertained_."

"I cannot have you undermine me at every turn!" Abraham suddenly shouted, making Katrina jump. She snapped her eyes back to him, feeling fear, yes, but also feeling _anger._

"Who are you to speak to me like I am some sort of wayward _pet,_ a hunting hound that has served you ill? I am _not_ your possession, Abraham, I will do as I please, and however that falls, it isn't any of your business to interfere!"

He stalked toward her, quick and furious and suddenly far, far too close. Katrina couldn't help it, she leaned back and grabbed the back of a chair to brace herself, but she was not cowering, she was digging her feet in and saying she would _not_ be moved.

"You are here because of _me, _you were _saved_ from the fires of Perdition because of _my request,_ so do not act like you owe no obligation. You, Katrina, are here through my will, and will therefore be subject to whatever it is I aim for! As long as you are here—"

"Then perhaps I should leave," she hissed, voice low and vicious and just as terrible as his. Abraham stared at her, wild indignation traded for shock and then proper rage. He narrowed his eyes at her, and for a moment Katrina thought that she had gone too far, that she had pressed what little luck she had and was now going to pay for it. Abraham already had the fuel of anger in his eyes, and she doubted he _really_ needed her sparks to set him into an inferno.

She clenched her teeth, waiting for him to strike her, or grab her, to snarl her hair up in his hand and show that she truly held no power here. But instead he turned on his heel, stalking deeper into the house. Katrina waited until she couldn't feel his footsteps in her bones before she slumped back, nearly collapsing onto the chair behind her.

It wasn't acceptance, or even defeat that had made Abraham turn around. It was a flat, horrible understanding that if he had to stand there a moment longer and let her drag him into confrontation, then he would do something terrible and she might break.

* * *

><p><em>AN As taken as I am with the dynamic between Katrina and Abraham, the whole thing between Katrina and Henry is soooooo important to me. With Abraham, there's a lot of push and pull, sometimes physical, sometimes psychological. But with Henry, it's more the two of them butting up against each other and refusing to move an inch. I reeeeeeally hope there's more development with them, because as much fun as it is to make things up, having things confirmed is <em>**_awesome._**


	3. oh how you lock me away

_AN whoops this is late hm._

_Obviously, this is a canon divergence at best, but here a few important things to keep in mind for the story: The timeline in regards to the time of year is different. I only just realized that in the show, they are currently in the middle of January at best, so I am radically bumping them back to about middle of October, because I need me some snow imagery in the future. _

_Also, my interpretation of the Horseman is a little different from what has been established in the show (because they just looooove to wreck my dearest headcanons). For the purposes of the story, I figure that because he has lost his soul, he has also lost his humanity, so he doesn't function in terms relating to empathy or the like. He is out for what he wants and he will take it in the ways he wants, though that in no way means he does not fully consider the repercussions of his actions. There is also a schism between the Abraham mentality and the Horseman mentality, for reasons._

* * *

><p>Katrina sat at the table, wanting to read the novel before her, but unable to settle on anything. She could no longer imagine how she had filled her days before. The hours were the same, she knew this, but now they dragged <em>on,<em> making her teeth stand on edge. Even in Purgatory, she had spent her time more successfully than _here,_ where she tiptoed and chose her battles and tried to think of a plan.

The nights were always the worst. At least during the day, she had the sun to chart how much time had passed, proof she was headed toward something. But now, at night, she was suspended in a void that was only teased way by tedium and nightmares.

Abraham had left some time earlier, though Katrina refused to think of just what he was doing. She already had trouble chasing the monstrous effects of his murders from his head, soaked in blood and fire as they were. She tried not to let it show, just how much they bothered her, but at night she found the scenes playing against her eyelids, the screams of burning men and the frantic terror of Jenny Mills as she felt Abraham prepare to kill her. And that was not even _mentioning_ her argument with him, where he had been big and terrible and so close to truly making her suffer. Katrina had never forgotten he was Death, but she had also never expected his wrath to be used on her.

Most often, now, she could not find sleep. Instead, she sat with her back against the headboard and her arms around her legs and her heart _wishing_ she had gone with Ichabod. That was the only time she allowed herself to dwell on could-have-beens, especially when connected to her husband. Otherwise, everything was shut away in a neat little box, and then thrown under the bed, because wanting hurt and wanting caused trouble. And she couldn't be an effective spy if her head was stuck somewhere else.

Katrina plucked at the manacles around one wrist. They were her step up from being fully bound to a chair, a reward for continual, if sometimes contrary, good behavior. The chain was fastened to the wall, and allowed her some deal of mobility. She still despised the fact that she was being bound like an animal, and that she hadn't yet managed to win Abraham's trust entirely. Arrogant and almost blindly opinionated as he was, though, he was no fool. He could sense a ruse, even if his own desires hid all but the edges of it.

Katrina leaned back in her chair, sighing and looking at the dark window. She wasn't sure, but the feeling in her stomach was strangely similar to loneliness.

The dull thrumming of hoof beats sounded outside, and Katrina straightened in her seat. Abraham's approach still sent a thrill of anxiety through her stomach. She was facing the window, so she could see the flick of his pale mount, and then they were both gone. She waited for him to come in, hopeful for a distraction, but not ready for _him._

A few moments later, his heavy footsteps echoed through her chest. She listened to him come closer, eyes on her hands. He stopped in the doorway, yet both of them remained silent, waiting for the other person's first move. Abraham walked closer, stopping just behind her. She held her breath as he silently undid the manacle, not reacting to the way he almost tenderly brushed his fingers over her wrist. Then he pushed her hair over her shoulder, tracing his fingers along her neck. Katrina bit her cheek and shuddered as he paused over her spine, then froze as he lifted the chain of the necklace, and carefully undid it.

Katrina looked up at that, then turned slowly to face him. She had tried to take off the necklace _so _many times, but only he could remove it. And he wouldn't do that, not when he wanted to deceive her so sweetly. Had the spell taken permanent hold on her, transferring from the necklace to her skin? Or had it simply worn off, requiring a replacement?

Katrina looked at him, and felt her breath catch. He was looking back at her. He had his eyes on her face, even though the necklace was no longer about her neck. He had a head.

He didn't look the same, though. The wear on his clothes was back, as well as a trace of blood on his collar. And his hair was cropped short, barely even there.

He had a _head._

Katrina blinked in surprise, realizing what had happened but hearing her thoughts chase themselves in a tight, disbelieving circle. His head. He had reclaimed his head. That was where he had been, using the legion's blood she had helped release to retrieve it from the Kindred. It had taken a few days, but he had destroyed Ichabod's most valuable asset.

Katrina swallowed, begging herself not to let any of the dread in her bones reach her face. Abraham was watching her closely, waiting for any telltale flickers of emotion. This was a test, this was a test, she _could not_ let herself fail, she could not she could not she could _not._

Katrina raised a hand and touched his jaw. She had to be sure, she had to know it was a trick before she made another move, she had to be certain. Of course, it was only flesh and blood beneath her fingertips, cool yet all too solid. She pulled back in both shock and horror, then steeled herself and brushed her knuckles against his skin.

It was a soft gesture, one that made Abraham tilt his head toward her, ever so slightly. He closed his eyes for the barest moment, like he wasn't sure what was happening, but he would indulge in it none the less.

She pulled her hand back, suddenly afraid of what she was doing, afraid of where she might end up if she continued down this path. Abraham in turn straightened, and she realized just how much he had leaned toward her. Katrina dropped her eyes, and after a moment, he left the room.

Katrina turned back to face the window, and wrapped her arms around herself.

* * *

><p>Jeremy stopped by the coach house the next day. Katrina had decided to forgo the creeping and sneaking of before, and simply did not move when they began their conversation in the next room. She had done magic for them, she had refused to run away twice, and she was laying at their feet. She would sit and listen to what she pleased.<p>

For their part, they seemed wholly content to ignore her. Perhaps it was because they weren't saying anything of report, just names passed back and forth, a brief update on Abraham's men, and the mention of something not working, but they talked away like she wasn't there. Katrina honestly didn't mind and kept her eyes on her needlework, but she could feel Jeremy's gaze wander to her, darkly amused at image of her domestication. Sure enough, when he passed through the sitting room to leave, he stopped beside her.

"Settling in fine, then?"

"As well as could be hoped," she answered, glaring at her work. "But of course, things tend to go a little better when one is not coerced into dark magic."

She looked up at Jeremy then, giving a sweet little smile. He didn't seem at all bothered by the poison in her voice.

"But you reveled in it, all the same." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a guess, it was a blunt statement because he had held her hand and felt the way her blood had _sang._

"Perhaps the way one revels in a dry crust of bread, after being starved."

Jeremy gave a dark chuckle and walked to the door. Katrina stared after him, feeling the way her glare fell and turned into something sad and a little regretful. She didn't know how to feel about him. Sometimes she wanted to lay down and weep because _this_ was never what she had intended for her son, but then at others she wanted to spit because he _delighted_ in this wickedness in a way no person had a right to.

Katrina looked away from the door, and jumped when she saw Abraham leaning in the doorway.

"Abraham," she said, the word falling out before she realized she had nothing else to say. They watched each other for a long moment, and the longer Abraham looked at her, but Katrina wanted to fidget. She could feel something coiling around his teeth, begging to be loosed.

"Did you need something?" she asked, thankful her voice did not shake. He tilted his head, and gave a flat, razor blade smile.

"No," he said, and turned away.

Katrina stared after him, not liking the sinking feeling in her stomach.

* * *

><p>Katrina rested her head against the window pane, trying not to look unhappy. It was a fine line, unhappiness and boredom, and she wanted to strike the right chord. When she sighed, she practically <em>felt<em> Abraham clench his jaw.

"What is it, Katrina?" he asked, clearly trying not to sound irked himself.

"Nothing, I just—" She pursed her lips, and looked at him through the window's reflection. "I was just wondering…would we be able to go out?"

Abraham stared at her, not understanding. Katrina turned around to face him, expression almost sweet.

"I've been within this coach house for what feels like _weeks_, now. I know every brick and spider web, and I swear I might go mad if I have to count the wood panels again," she said, praying that he would accept light natured teasing better than petulance. "Could I…could we perhaps leave, explore the grounds? I want to be able to stretch my legs more than these rooms allow."

His expression was still stern, but then he asked, "To what end?"

Katrina offered an honest smile, and said, "To the end of seeing something other than the inside of this building."

She said it with an extraordinary smile, and sure enough, the next day found her standing outside the coach house, a lit lantern in hand. Abraham was by her side, quietly watching her. It was twilight, the sky still just light enough for her to see without the lantern, but it wouldn't last long.

"What would you like to see?" Abraham asked, and Katrina shrugged.

"I truly do not care. We could walk in a _circle,_ and I would be happy."

Abraham gave a smile at that, and it truly shocked her. He had smiled before as Death, but this time it wasn't so much the consolidation of anger, spite, or bitterness she was accustomed to seeing. He was just amused by her. It reminded Katrina of how he had been as a man, tall and honest and so very open with how he had felt. Not the silent oppressive figure she had learned to ease around.

Katrina smiled in return and ducked her head, hoping the action would come off as humble thanks, rather than nostalgic regret.

Abraham offered his arm, and for a moment, she could pretend things were fine. They were taking a turn about the grounds. He was not her captor, she was not aggressively trying to thwart him, she was not a witch, he was not a Horseman. Then she heard his horse nicker, whispering dark secrets to him, felt the brand on the back of his hand, saw the blood on his collar, and tasted the dry bitterness of being without magic for so, so long.

Katrina reminded herself that pretending and forgetting had a time and a place, and that this was not it.

"So, I have noticed that the end of days has not yet come to pass," she said, tone almost breezy as they began to walk. Abraham gave a long sigh through his nose, as if he didn't want to discuss such a topic with her, but was resigning himself to it anyway. His voice was almost steely when he answered.

"Have you?"

"Yes. After you had retrieved your head, I figured that ushering in the remaining two Horseman would be top on your list."

"I stand as a marker, not a guide to the others," Abraham said, voice flat. "They will find their way if capable. War has."

"But Jeremy was already here," she said, casting her eyes over the skeletal trees ringing the trail. "Conquest attempted passage, but that was a thin plan."

"It nearly worked."

"But didn't without your help."

"It almost sounds like you _want_ the end of days to come," Abraham said, a thin smile on his lips. Katrina didn't miss the way he sounded pleased. It wasn't so much over her apparent change of heart, but at the perceive compliment.

"I don't, you know that, but it's also something I would like to be prepared for."

"You can't be," he said, not looking at her. "No mortal can stand in the face of the apocalypse and hope to survive. Witch or no, you will succumb." He turned to look at her, expression hard. Katrina stared back at him, swallowing. He wasn't talking about her giving in to him and becoming the immortal mistress of a dead world, at least, not entirely. There were the hints of an absolute end in his voice, an obliteration that could come from Moloch alone. She would be destroyed if she did not heed his request, not in punishment, not out of spite, but just because that was how everything else would go.

Katrina looked back at the trail before her, trying not to think about how much utter destruction absolutely terrified her.

They were quiet for a long moment, the subtle sounds of her lantern creaking and their footsteps falling flat in the air. It was getting dark enough that Katrina had to squint to look wherever her lantern wasn't pointed.

"Why would you allow hesitation in your plans?" Katrina asked eventually, voice soft. Abraham looked at her, then turned his eyes back to the trail. When he didn't respond, Katrina pushed a little more.

"You're not a man of hesitation. It makes no sense, now that you have your head, the end can begin. Yet it has been _days,_ and still nothing. Why…"

Katrina's eyes wandered from his steely profile to the back of his head, where the mark of the hessians was carved into his skin. It was not as stark as it had once been, turning more from a tattoo to a scar, but she could _feel_ all of its dark implications. And then a thought came to her, making Katrina stop where she was. Abraham turned to face her, jaw set.

"Unless, you _can't_ summon them," Katrina whispered. Abraham's expression didn't change, but she could_ feel_ the icy anger inside him.

"You can't summon them," she repeated, stomach dropping away from sheer shock. "Your head, it has been sealed in some manner, binding your powers."

Abraham cast her a sideways look, sulky anger flaring up and then being pressed back in an instant. Katrina stared at him, fighting to keep herself in check, even as a burst of pride at Ichabod and Abbie spiked in her chest. They had devised a way to stop Abraham from gaining his whole powers as Death. Katrina wanted to sing and get on her knees and _thank God_ for giving them this immense victory, but instead hid all of her relief and amazement and delight and made herself look down at the path before her.

She stared at the pool of thin yellow light cast from her lantern. Her breath puffed out before her, and goose flesh raised on her arms, but Katrina didn't know if it was from the cold or the growing dread from Abraham's silence. She could feel him thinking, churning the facts and the options over in his mind, but she could no longer tell what way his thoughts went. Katrina didn't know if it was because of the time apart, or because his mind was now a contorted contraption of Moloch's, but she had lost the ability to predict how he was going to react, at least without any obvious clues from him. Still, she had to pursue the matter, had to find answers that she might be able to use.

"Jeremy can't break whatever's binding you, can he? That's why he came over last time, to see what was wrong."

"Yes," Abraham admitted, like pulling caterpillars from a garden, quick and without any feeling. Katrina nodded, unsure how to proceed. After a moment, she asked, "So where does that leave your plans?

"Unhindered. There are still ways to usher in the end of days."

"It wasn't a challenge," she remarked, trying to ignore the pit that had formed in her stomach. "I simply—I was concerned. I expected there would be other ways, yes, but if you are unable to begin your task..." Katrina didn't say _what should happen to you?_, but it hung heavy in the air regardless.

"There are other ways I may serve. Guiding the other Horsemen is but the most direct path. The others simply wander more."

"So more destruction before the final destruction," Katrina asked, unable to keep the mockery from her voice. Still, she felt a wriggle of concern, because they _had_ stalled the end, but at what cost? What was the plan that Abraham had been speaking of, the one that would cause so much more destruction? Katrina chewed her lip, thinking. She had come quite a way to make Abraham trust her. He was noticeably more forth coming to her, which was something.

But it wasn't information he was neatly pouring at her feet. It was anger, thick and heavy, and enough to make her breath catch. Abraham trusted her enough to stay without constant charm and flattery, trusted her with the honest nature of his feelings. That should have been a good thing, it _was_ a good thing, it was progress. But it also made her guilty, because she had inadvertently caused this. And it made her scared, because she wasn't sure just how deep or powerful that anger would go.

If he found out the lie she was so sweetly weaving around his skin…

Katrina closed her eyes. She needed to be more careful. Or maybe not lie.

They continued walking, Katrina studiously fixing her gaze on the coach house, while Abraham watched her, silently asking if hindering the end was really worth it.

That next day, when she ate dinner, Abraham watched. He was dressed down, his coat hanging in the other room, and his collar allowed to hang open. Katrina made herself focus on his face and not the dark, ugly scar ringing his neck.

She looked back at her plate, quietly speaking a thick slice of cheese.

"You don't have to stand," she told him. Abraham was still for a moment, then settled into a chair across from her. It felt like he was on the verge of springing up at any moment.

They were silent for a long while, then Abraham spoke.

"Doesn't it tire you?"

Katrina looked at him, confused. He tilted his head, seeming to consider her.

"This clinging to life. Is it not tedious, the constant battle against illness, the _hoarding_ of food? Continually having to sleep and knowing that any moment may bring catastrophic injury, what value do you see in it?"

Katrina set down her fork, considering him. Instantly, a series of sharp retorts about being uninterested in being suspended between life and death caught her tongue, but she held herself back.

"Has it really been so long since you too were alive, that you have forgotten the joys in it?"

"I recall that these _joys_ were far too few to be counted as reasonable reward."

"Life is not about the _tangible,_" she remarked, running her finger around the rim of her cup. "Ideally, one takes pleasure in these nuisances called eating and sleeping and maintaining one's body. Does it _truly _seem so pathetic from where you stand?"

"It seems unnecessary."

Katrina considered him for a moment, wondering if he even _could_ eat or sleep. She had only ever seen him on his feet, in battle or waiting for the next one, and she had been there for _weeks._

"So you disregard the chances for pleasure, because it seems unnecessary. Surely that is no way to live."

He tilted his head, halfway to a concession, and suddenly Katrina wanted to ask him where he found his pleasure. Did he even _have_ pleasure, did he remember what it looked like, how it tasted? Or was his joy found only in blood and the last breaths of scared men?

Katrina dropped her eyes, staring at her glass. The air was flat for a few long moments, then Katrina cleared her throat.

"Abraham…would I be able to…could I scry again?" she asked, just shy enough to make him smile.

"Of course."

"Tomorrow, if it's all the same to you. I'm feeling rather tired tonight."

"If you wish," he said, nodding his head at her. And again, that ragged, cold edge was gone, and he was just Abraham again, flattering and kind.

Katrina smiled at him, because she missed _Abraham_, the man that had aided Washington, helped fund the resistance, and risked his life for his beliefs. She missed the man he had been, not his face. They had been friends, and now…

Now it was like looking at a cruel painting, a causal mockery of the man she had once known.

* * *

><p>Katrina stared at the witch's glass, forcing herself to scry the mountains, the face of the one of the children she had tended after, the bright, white masts of ships at harbor. Anything that was not her husband, anything not useful. Abraham no longer chose to hang over her, but she had the distinct impression that he would know the moment she attempted to defy him.<p>

Finally, Katrina set down the glass. She didn't want to boy with the possibility of betraying herself and her goal.

She sat back in her chair, casting her gaze around. She was suddenly gripped with the urge to fling open the shutters and soak up the sunshine she was no longer allowed to touch. It was weak, already turning orange and pink and a thousand other colors in preparation for night, but it was more than she was normally allowed. She closed her eyes, remember times that had before been bland and tedious, but now seemed so desirable because of the _day_ washing around her. Morning spent with friends, afternoons with Ichabod, where they sometimes discussed serious matters, and others when they took quiet walks, drinking in the grasshoppers and fluffy bit of cotton in the air.

Abraham's footsteps sounded in the hall, but Katrina continued to watch the shuttered window. The slivers of sky beyond were a tired blue, fading fast into navy.

"Are you finished?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," she said, jarred by the sound of something other than the birds and her thoughts. She turned to face him, hoping that the pining on her face wasn't _too_ obvious. "I supposed I've just gone from one form of day dreaming to another."

She gave him a soft smile, and then looked down at her hands. Abraham came closer, and set his hand on the glass.

"Oh, Abraham…could—could I keep the witch's glass? In my room? I mean, I have so few things, and I…it's one of the very few things I have any connection to."  
>Abraham considered her for a moment, then took her hand. He carefully placed the glass in her palm, his fingers lingering on her skin.<p>

"Thank you," she said, drinking in the residual hum of magic from the glass. Abraham gave her a smile, and something jolted in Katrina, because it all felt so _false_, but also horribly real. Katrina smiled again out of reflex, and then looked back at her hands. Abraham was still holding one. She watched it for a long moment, then settled her free hand over the surly burn of a bow and arrow on his flesh.

They were silent for a long stretch, and then Abraham pulled her hand away, raising it up toward him. She held her breath, unsure what he was going to do. Some part of her wondered if her would kiss the back of her hand, but then he turned it over, and pressed his lips into her palm. A shiver went through her, because it suddenly felt wrongly intimate, a strange, precious gift that he would allow no one else, placed literally in her hand. Katrina swallowed, tried to stay calm, tried not to think about how _long _he had wanted to do that, how difficult it had been to bide his time until this very moment.

When she didn't pull away, Abraham kissed her wrist, his breath tracing down her veins. Katrina closed her eyes, then moved her hand back, ever to slightly. Abraham tilted his head up to look at her, his lips pulling away from her skin. Katrina looked at him, meeting his almost wounded uncertainty with a look far steadier than she felt. He seemed to realize that her hand was still extended before him, and that the movement was not a refusal, but a lure.

Abraham leaned down at kissed her, once, on the jaw. She clenched the hand holding the witch's glass as she felt his breath again, this time trailing through her hair and over her neck. He let go of her wrist, and then it was on her shoulder, caught somewhere between making sure she was real and making sure she didn't leave.

Sudden thrills of anxiety went through her, because she didn't know if she had gone too far, if she had led him to a path she was nowhere near ready for. But then they both heard a whiny, and Abraham pulled away from her. He glanced in the direction of the sound, then turned back to her. They watched each other for a long moment, Katrina unable to read his expression, or even guess what hers looked like, but then his horse whinnied again. It wasn't a strained warning sound like she had heard in his fight with Ichabod and his allies, but an almost nagging sort of reminder, like Abraham needed to go somewhere, and should have already left. He let out a sigh through his nose, and let her go.

"When will you be back?" Katrina found herself saying, the words stumbling out because she _needed_ to hear something other than the high ringing of condemnation in her ears.

He offered what she supposed was a smirk, and merely said, "Before sunrise," then left the room.

Katrina waited for a few moments after the sound of hoof beats had disappeared before she pushed herself up from her chair, and scrambled for a piece of paper and pen. It was the first time she had been left unbound when he went out, and she fully intended to use it for good.

Within moments, she was dipping a pen into a small well of ink she had made, if this exact occasion arose. She scribbled down as much as she had learned, namely the facts involving the seal on Abraham, and a few other scraps about the movements of the hessians. Then she was at the window, _willing_ one of the nearby birds to brace Jeremy's wards and deliver her message. Soon enough, she was strapping the note to a crow's leg, and then was setting it free again.

She leaned back against the wall, panting slightly from the sudden flurry of movement, but then it was all catching up to her, just what she had begun in the last few minutes. The triumphant smile on her face fell, replaced by something tight and vaguely sickened.

Katrina carefully stripped down to just her shift, and walked out to the water pump. Her last visit there stabbed at her as she got the water going, the taste of disgust and panic and fear, the acrid smell of agony staining everything around her. Katrina grit her teeth, and scrubbed at her skin and hair. She even leaned down and drank straight from the pump, because there was something coating her tongue and she needed to get rid of it.

He was Death. She had let _Death_ press his lips to her skin, because those were the tools she had left.

Katrina wrung out her hair, and carefully walked back inside. She collected her clothes, draped them over a chair, and curled up in bed, even though her shift and hair were still damp.

A part of her was shrinking back from the memory of Abraham's touch, but another part was shrinking back because the first thing her mind had whispered was _use this_.

* * *

><p><em>AN THIS IS IT THIS IS THE BEGINNING THIS IS WHERE WE DELVE INTO TERRITORY THAT IS BOTH TANTALIZING AND MAKES US HATE OURSELVES <em>

_(or maybe it's just me)_


	4. all the eye can see

_AN I am a thousand years late, but here I am. Also, I legitimately just spent about an hour trying to think of a chapter title. I hope you're satisfied._

_(maybe if I yell loudly enough, the show canon won't actually affect this story__)_

_Warning: a scene of mild body horror_

* * *

><p>Katrina moved to the stable, hoping her slow, casual pace would dissuade Abraham from storming out and locking her up in punishment. No matter how much she ached to, she did <em>not<em> go to the road or the forest fringing the property. She walked to the stables, because she could feel his eyes on her back, trailing her every step.

Katrina heaved open the doors to the stable, and raised her lantern high. She saw the torches nuzzled against the wall, and carefully began to light them. The wards stopping her magic were not as strong out at the stables, but they were still strong enough to grate against her skin when she attempted to light them by magic. She held her breath, then moved deeper into the stables. The Horseman's mount stood in the middle of the stalls, watching her with lazy, burning eyes. She walked closer, though, and set her lantern on a shelf. The horse kept its eyes on her, and Katrina realized that they glowed faintly in the dark.

"Hello, there," she murmured, holding her palm out to the horse. It huffed in warning, and turned its head. She gave a soft sigh, and shifted to meet its eyes.

"I just wanted to say hello," she said, keeping her voice light and free of guile. "I mean, we've met several times, but never actually been formally acquainted."

The horse let out another harsh breath, its red eyes focused on the wall. But the beast stayed still, so Katrina reach out, and put a firm hand on its side. It flinched, but did not pull away again.

"I'm sorry, did I surprise you?" she asked, moving her hand to its cheek. The horse stared at her, seeming confused by her attention, but ready to listen.

"You don't really get to see many people, do you?" she continued, stroking its head and weaving a little magic into her voice. It wasn't much, but it made the horse stay still. "That's alright, I'll be able to come here and speak to you, as often as you want."

Katrina took its head in both hands, forcing it to look at her straight on. She blew her scent into its nose, so that it would remember her, and that it could not escape the magic lacing her breath. The effort made her a little light headed, but she was rewarded with the horse shifting, and sighing out a clover-sticky breath. Now that the hostile front was gone from it, the horse appeared eager to display its beauty and might to her, as though she had not noticed before.

"I was wondering where you were," Abraham said from the stable doors. Katrina started, jerking her hands away from the horse. She smoothed her skirts as she faced him, and tried not to look guilty.

"I just—I wanted to stretch my legs, and I—I've never really, er…" Katrina licked her lips, then met his gaze. She couldn't read his expression, and it didn't change as he came closer.  
>"It's a great beast, isn't it?" she asked, hoping to get a different reaction. He clapped the horse on the neck, and didn't look at her for a long moment. Katrina made herself not hold her breath, suddenly away of the faint breath of magic still in the air. If he caught her now, whispering spells to his horse…<p>

"He truly is," Abraham agreed, turning to look at her. He didn't say anything for a long moment, in which Katrina could only shift back, remembering how softly he had brushed her skin with his lips. And, of course, how brutally he had hacked into men's chests with an axe.

"You—you ride him at night, yes? I mean, to exercise him when not—to keep him fit?"

"Yes," he murmured, giving nothing away. It was like they were both waiting, trying to see if he should be Abraham, or the Horseman. Katrina offered a hopeful smile, and said, "Then, could I possibly join you? Not always, but on occasion…just go riding with you?" She needed more time to work small magicks on the horse, and any chance to explore the grounds was reasonable enough to her. Abraham smiled, then, and gave a slight nod.

"Surely something can be worked out. But I don't recall you being much of a horsewoman."

Katrina gave a shy shrug, because she had never been overly bothered with horses. She could ride reasonably well, but she had never spent much time around the stables when engaged to Abraham. She much preferred the steady, heavy hoofed beasts of burden found on farms, than the sleek and supremely delicate things the nobility insisted upon.

"A change now and again can't be amiss. And…" she hesitated, turning toward the horse like she was embarrassed, "I wouldn't mind…you're different with him. Steadier, so focused on his wellbeing."

_ When not charging him into battle,_ she thought darkly. The horse nickered, and cast her a reproving look.

"It…it's not a side of you I'm accustomed to," she finished, looking at her hands. Abraham continued to watch her, then said softly, "We'll go riding tomorrow, if you'd wish."

Katrina gave him a quick, bright grin, then took a step back from the stall.

"I had better turn in, then. I want to be well rested for tomorrow. And I still need to find another blanket, the nights have been getting cold. I can feel it cooling, even now."

Katrina knew she was babbling, but it was all spurred by her breathless good luck at not having been caught. She felt Abraham watch her go, then turn back to brush his horse.

* * *

><p><em>Katrina moved through the forest. She was moving fast, her feet seeming to only skim the ground. The trees were dark and rustling around her, but they didn't so much as touch her big, black wings. It was like they were humming to her, a much sweeter sound than in Purgatory.<em>

_ She continued for a while, almost giddy in her freedom, until she noticed the trees move. They shifted from a quiet rustling to ragged, jerky movements, as if waving her away. Katrina stopped, confused, but then she heard them; pounding footsteps, made heavy by the sins of the owner. The Horseman._

_ She hurried, but now that she wanted to go fast, her legs slowed, stiff and strange. Katrina gasped in horror as the forest floor snarled around her feet, holding her back for him. She choked on a shriek, scared he would find her that much faster, but then she **felt **him, felt him right there behind her._

_ A hand grabbed onto her dress, yanking her back and tearing the scream out of her mouth. Her wings thrashed, wanting to hurt him as much as escape from him._

_ He wheeled her around, and Katrina felt herself freeze in horror when she saw the grotesque thing that was his neck, severed and bleeding. She could see his spine, and the spot where his throat ended, dark and terrible. She didn't remember this, she didn't want this, she didn't want the stale air of **death** poured into her face._

_ The Horseman forced Katrina onto the ground, knee on her stomach. The forest was in a frenzy, now, heaving at the fear in her screams and the brutality of his silence. Katrina clawed at the ground, like she could gouge an escape for herself, but the earth refused to move, her wings refused to find her safety._

_ Then the Horseman had a hatchet in his hand, and she was nearly sick when he stretched her wings out flat. He raised the hatchet high. Katrina **screamed** as he brought it down, her entire body unable to move, but rebelling, just the same._

_ Feathers were in the air, some fine and whole, others severed or coated in blood. Agony lanced up through the rest of her body, lightning bolts of pain sparking out from her precious, precious wings. Katrina wished she could fight him, but he was too strong, too fast, each rough, brutal stroke tearing a bit of her apart and making blood soak through her dress and hair. She felt so, so cold._

_ The Horseman leaned back from his gruesome work, holding the limps wings up like a trophy. He seemed to be smiling at her, like he was telling her this was all for good._

Katrina gasped awake, fists tightening around her blankets. She was curled up tight, and she thought at first it was in response to her inability to move in the dream. Then she realized it was _cold _in the room, winter's chill creeping in a bit further.

She sighed and relaxed a little, then stiffened again. Abraham was there as well.

Katrina's eyes snapped open to find him in the doorway. He appeared to have just looked in, concerned at whatever sound she had made in sleep. She stared at him, wondering if the fear was bleeding into her eyes. Her anxiety abated somewhat when she realized he was no longer holding her truncated wings.

_He never was,_ she reminded herself, and took another breath.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, voice soft in the dark. She nodded.

"What about?"

"P-Purgatory," she lied, the word slipping so easily from her tongue.

"You've never cried out before," he noted, an unhappy expression tightening his features. Katrina's stomach would have tightened, had it not already been in knots. He knew about her nightmares?

"Are you cold?" he asked, nodding at the blankets she had clutched so tightly around herself.

"I—er—it's a little cold. Probably just…I'll be fine."

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked, eyes concerned. Katrina swallowed, wanting suddenly to crawl inside that soft compassion and just soak away the doubts and fears she had been steeped in for _far_ too long.

She hesitated, which Abraham took as quiet confirmation. He walked deeper into the room, ignoring her almost fearful gaze. He had shed most of his layers, his coat and waistcoat left in some other room.

Abraham stopped by her bed, and then reached out to touch her head.

"You're cold," he said. Katrina shrugged again, and this time, managed some words.

"I-I'm fine. I'll warm up alright."

"May I stay here, to warm you?" He paused, body rebelling at the thought of him being so near after her nightmare, but also leaping at the chance to finally chase the cold from her limbs.

Katrina gave a single, tight nod.

Abraham nodded back, and sat down. He carefully pulled off his boots, then, to her shock, tugged off his shirt. He felt her pull away from him, knew she as fearing the worst, and he looked at her. Katrina sucked in a breath when she saw the almost cold efficiency of the Horseman staring back at her, saying that this was the most practical way to warm her. Neither one said anything as he set his boots neatly at the end of the bed and draped his shirt over the back of a chair. Then he was back, pulling away the blankets and climbing inside.

Katrina couldn't meet his eyes at first, but instead focused on his chest. She didn't think about the gross impropriety he was again so casually committing ("despite his good breeding," some clipped, neat British accent told her from an age past), or the stark threat it posed to her. Instead, Katrina looked at the scars lacing his skin, all slight and a few shades lighter than the rest of his chest. Katrina wondered how many had been giving to Abraham, and how many dealt as killing blows to Death.

Eventually, she forced herself down beside him, facing the opposite wall. Even his breathing was unearthly quiet, but she could feel every heartbeat, every muscle twitch. Katrina closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>Katrina woke, but kept her eyes shut. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew for a fact that the bed was warm and so soft beneath her. She had the vague sense of having forgotten a terrible dream, one that had seemed to stretch on for centuries. Katrina frowning, rtying to recall it, curious as to what made her feel such relief. Something about the dark, a murky forest, perhaps, and then…feathers?<p>

She dismissed them from her mind, preferring to settle a little deeper into her bed, to focus on the comfortable press of Ichabod's shoulder against her back. If the dream had been that awful, she really had no need to remember it.

A horse nickered near the house. Katrina opened her eyes. The horses were kept on the other side of the house, as was the road. So why…?  
>Ichabod shifted beside her, groaning slightly.<p>

His voice was wrong.

And then she remembered, the peaceful illusions cracking neatly around her. Katrina was once again the Horseman's prisoner, not the content wife of one Ichabod Crane, left to pursue life as a housewife and secret magical supporter of General George Washington. And it was the Horseman that lay beside her, there with the purpose of helping chase away the cold. A grim slash of a smile appeared on her face. It had been nice while it lasted, but so bitter when gone.

Katrina clenched her hand by her face, forcing herself not to do something foolish. She was thankful Abraham hadn't touched her in the night, hadn't reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her and forced her close. He had instead maintained a polite distance, there to keep her warm, and that only.

"What was he saying?" she asked after a moment, certain Abraham was awake. Sure enough, he gave an empty laugh, almost a sigh.

"He's complaining I didn't have an apple for him last night."

"Oh?" Katrina blinked, surprised to hear something so _mundane_ to have come from such a fearsome creature. She suppressed a slight laugh at the image of Death's horse being quite a fussy little thing. When not being terrifying, and riding enemies down, of course.

"Yes." Abraham sat up, making the bed shift. Katrina finally brought herself to watch him. He was leaning over to grab his shirt from the foot of the bed.

"Were you warm through the night?" he asked, slipping his shirt over his head.  
>"Oh, yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable."<p>

He looked back at her, expression serious.

"Good." Abraham nodded to himself as if satisfied, then walked to the door. "If you need anything else…"

"Of course, I won't hesitate to call," she assured him. Then, with a smile that was tied but sincere, she said, "Thank you, Abraham. Really."

He nodded again, and smiled back at her. Looking at that smile, she could almost forget the phantom pain of the nightmare.

* * *

><p><em>AN eheheheh<em>

_i'm laying a foundation for my guilty pleasure what of it_


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